


Extreme Sleeping for the Socially Uninvested

by sexonastick



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Given a choice, Beca would probably opt to sleepwalk through her one (<i>and only!</i>) year of college, but outside forces are conspiring against her.</p>
<p>Good thing she's such an expert at sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extreme Sleeping for the Socially Uninvested

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [theagonyofblank](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theagonyofblank), [booklover81](http://archiveofourown.org/users/booklover81), and [sbrn10](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sbrn10) for tolerating my flailing in turns. (And correcting my many typos.)

Once Beca gets good at something she really tries to dedicate herself to it, and the one thing she's even better at than mixing music is probably sleeping. She's a really skilled sleeper. It's a gift.

As far as Beca knows, the beds outside the freshman dorms aren't as small as her own. They're actually probably large enough to have sex in or at least cram two bodies side-by-side without one giving the other bruises in the night.

Beca's a pretty aggressive sleeper overall. If your sheets stayed in one place for most of the night then you messed up somewhere. Fact.

* * *

So it's kind of confusing when Chloe comes to her door in the middle of the night -- which by the way, how did she even get in, what the hell kind of security is this -- and drapes herself in the doorway. As far as Beca knows, Chloe has a _much_ larger bed of her own to go home to and it's not located in a room that she shares with a pissed off Korean. So what the hell is she doing here?

Judging by the too happy smile -- though on Chloe, that's relative -- and the way her hip rests against the doorframe, Beca's best guess is that she's a little bit hammered.

"… hey," Beca says, very carefully. She's not actually sure if Chloe takes after Aubrey at all in the puking department and now would probably be a bad time to find out. No sudden movements or whatever. "Are you-- uh." She blinks, and Chloe's smile widens. "Come… in?"

Chloe just nods and pushes past. 

Well actually, she also mumbles something that might have been English, but it's messy and kind of wet and Beca hasn't got a clue what it translates to. "You, uh--" 

Chloe buries her face against Beca's pillow and draws the top layers of blankets up toward her mouth in a bunched up knot. 

All Beca can really do is frown. "So - where's Aubrey?"

Somewhere about midway down the pillow, Chloe's voice says something that sounds a bit like "out."

"Out… where?" 

The response is suspiciously close to a snore.

\--

It's not that Beca minds visitors exactly --

Well no, she does. She generally minds them a lot, but Chloe's different. She doesn't hate having Chloe around like with most people, but usually that happens in the daylight and doesn't involve her taking up most of Beca's bed.

Plus Chloe is _actually snoring_ , and what if Kimmy Jin wakes up? That could be bad. 

\--

It just would have been cool for her to call. Or text.

Or you know, to _crash at Aubrey's_ , which would be the _normal_ thing for Chloe to do. Except that Aubrey is apparently out.

Supposedly. If drunk Chloe is to be believed when her decision making processes so far are highly suspect.

So maybe Aubrey is home and Beca should just text her. 

That's a plan. It's a great one actually, which is impressive because Beca is still half asleep and doesn't actually feel all that clever pacing her room in a pair of boxers and rumpled t-shirt.

Which - it only occurs to her _now_ that Chloe saw her dressed like this. 

Not that it really matters when they've both seen each other completely naked. But she still might've wanted to be in a shirt that fits better.

\--

_Where are you?_ she starts to text, and then erases it. That's too open to interpretation and Aubrey's likely to write a novel. Something more direct then.

_hey, you missing a redhead?_

But that doesn't seem right either. What if Aubrey panics when everything's fine? Because it is. It's fine.

Actually judging by the puddle of drool forming on her pillow, Chloe is more than fine and making herself _very_ comfortable. Shit.

_chloe is here can you please come_ \- But she doesn't even finish typing that one out.

Stupid. This is a stupid plan.

*** * ***

When Beca was little and coughing all night with a cold, her dad would come into her room and prop her up with extra pillows. She's not certain on the biology of that exactly, but it worked. She always slept easier after his visits.

That was back when her dad actually came into her bedroom without her throwing a book or something to get him to leave. Back when he still lived in the same house. Not anymore.

It doesn't matter anyway. She sleeps just fine now.

* * *

After her dad catches her skipping out on Intro to Philosophy, Beca makes a concentrated effort not to sleep through class again.

At least not in her dorm.

\--

The thing about Intro to _Psychology_ is that the lecture hall is huge. She hasn't done a headcount, but there are a couple hundred kids easy. Plus the guy loves to use slides.

If you're willing to wait a little while, you can get a good nap in once the lights go out. Just don't sit in the very back -- big rookie mistake -- since that's where he'll be looking for students dozing off. It's way better to find yourself a nice spot in the middle of a couple other kids.

Never sit near over-achievers. They raise their hands, draw attention to your row. You want the dim bulbs who are going to focus on their notes but won't speak out in class. So far the Trebles have actually been pretty reliable marks.

\--

Today's lecture is on states of consciousness. If there were a class at Barden on dramatic irony, Beca would be doing _amazing_.

That assumes that her professor is probably the hero of this tale -- big surprise that she'd also be passing comparative literature if she ever took it, which is about as likely as Aubrey ever unclenching -- but Beca's really pretty okay with being the antihero. They usually get all the best lines and a much better theme song. 

Because let's face it: the soundtrack to Beca's life is mostly fantastic, with only a few rough spots mostly reserved for times spent with Aubrey doing a disturbingly accurate impersonation of a frightened parakeet _right next to Beca's ear_. Otherwise, it's pretty great.

\--

Once the lights go out in the room, Beca's eyes start to droop. It's almost Pavlovian. (Score another one for irony.) But she resists.

You've got to wait until he hits his stride. Early on, any halfway decent professor -- or even a shitty one with a relatively large ego -- is scanning the room for a reaction. He wants to see the students engaged, and punish the ones who aren't. So Beca waits for him to find his groove. You know, get confident. Get cocky.

People are basically assholes. You just have to let him get to that point, and he'll be so caught up in his own bullshit to notice some short girl snoozing in the tenth row back.

\--

Come to think of it, Beca could probably do great in psychology if she bothered to stay awake. But she'd probably also have to give a much bigger shit about other people as a whole in a way that sounds really dull and emotionally draining. 

An extra hour of sleep so she that can stay up later mixing will be way more productive in the long run, she's sure.

\--

Beca wakes up to the professor talking loud a few rows behind her. Her eyes flick open, but she doesn't flinch. That's a give away.

She takes a few moments to lick her sleep-chapped lips and blink the grogginess from her eyes before craning her head to listen. She's taking an avid interest in the goings-on of the classroom, see. How _scholarly_.

Seems like some kid chose the back row to take his nap. Right in the center, too. 

Total amateur hour.

*

Beca knows most of the best places to catch a nap on campus. There are the obvious ones like the quad and the overstuffed sofa at the coffee house. Enough people sleep outside on the grass that you could trip over them. (Actually, a few members of that club where people run around in circles really _did_ , and now there are rules about where they can run on campus.)

But not everyone knows the deep cuts. Like sure, there's her dad's office during off hours -- okay, so maybe that one's cheating -- but the radio station is also viable as long as it's not during Jesse's shift. She knows a couple of shelves on the upper floor that are such a mess there's no way anyone's been up there to stack and sort through CDs in … maybe ever? The laundry room at one of the dorms with a greater overall male population is doable too when all other options fail, but it's best if you stick to the early mornings.

There's also a pretty great sofa in the library tucked away in the ancient languages section. Turns out not a lot of people frequent there. (Beca's a little dubious about that one, actually, and never lets skin touch fabric if she can help it. She can't be the _only one_ that knows about a semi-secret not so public couch out in public, and the possibilities are shudder inducing.)

But the point is: there are options.

* * *

Beca's good at studying the options and angles. She's actually in the habit of finding the bright side of things. No, really.

Trouble is that if you're a realist even the bright and shiny side can start to look a little bit like shit.

* * *

The best thing about the divorce was how quiet the house became at night. No more hissed fights from the next room over that they thought she couldn't hear. No more dad getting up in the middle of the night to creep down the stairs to sleep in the living room instead. No more Beca straining to hear her own name, worrying she might be the source of disagreement.

Just peace and quiet. Great for sleeping.

See? Total fucking optimist. That's Beca.

* * *

(Chloe smells pretty good, apparently even while drunk. That's a bright side.

This is the first time Beca's ever been close enough to _smell her_ so it's probably not weird that it's the only thing she can think. What else do you think about when your face is sharing half a pillow with your friend's hair?

But it's not just the shampoo. Her skin kind of smells like -- 

Wait, no. Beca is _not_ sniffing Chloe's shoulder. That's -- well for one thing it's invasive creeper territory, so it's more the kind of thing that _Chloe_ would do.

\--

Beca's feet are cold but she keeps them carefully drawn back to her own side of the bed. 

Even if Chloe is just _radiating_ warmth. People like her are known to do that kind of thing, right? Part of the whole bubbly personality and the Disney princess smile is supposed to be _warmth_. Which as far as Beca knows is just that _thing_ Jesse keeps criticizing her for lacking.

She never really thought about it as being so literal.

But Chloe is so fucking warm, it's like it spreads out into the rest of Beca's bed. Even creeping into the two inches of space she's managed to keep between them.

Two inches and shrinking fast, because somehow her hair is fanned out across most of Beca's pillow now. In the moonlight, it looks sort of like a fire starting to burn.

When Beca _accidentally_ brushes her knee against the back of Chloe's thigh, she's warm in a way that spreads directly from her and into Beca. It settles somewhere in Beca's chest, pressing against her ribs. Like drinking whiskey way too fast.

This won't be a very restful night. She can already tell.)

* * *

All four of the Barden acappella groups use a different rehearsal space. The Trebles have got their nerd frat house or whatever and the Harmonics use the theater department. From what Beca can tell, the High Notes just sit out on the quad. She's not even sure that they practice in any traditional sense, but they look like they're at least having way more fun than anyone at a Bellas rehearsal.

Not even Aubrey really seems to _enjoy_ practicing with them.

\--

The Bellas use an auditorium space that kind of feels like it was designed for a larger group. It's because of tradition or… duty? Maybe honor. Something.

Beca wasn't actually listening when Aubrey explained, but it took her like fifteen minutes so there must be some kind of reason.

The important thing is that it's empty before practice, and so it's another prime spot to catch some sleep.

\--

Enter one redhead.

\--

Beca's relaxed and pretty comfortable. She's found a spot far enough to the side to be out of the eye-line of the doorway for anyone approaching but close enough to the front to hear most noise from the hallway. She's also gotten to be a bit of a light sleeper; you sort of have to be if you're going to turn naps around town into your own version of an extreme sport.

So she's already blinking the grogginess from her eyes when Chloe rounds the corner, humming. She stops dead in her tracks, eyes on Beca. 

"… oh." She blinks, obviously caught off-guard, but it only takes a few moments to recompose herself. "Hey, Beca." She squints -- first at her watch, then back again. "You're early."

"So're you." It sounds defensive. Beca always sounds _so fucking defensive_ , even when what she wants to be is casual. Laid back. She tries tweaking it with a smile, modifying the impact. Like changing a bass line.

From the look on her face, it's hard to tell if Chloe is buying it. "Yeah," is all she says, speaking softly. "I'm meeting Aubrey."

But said quietly or not, it gets Beca's attention. If she wasn't fully awake before, she is now. The idea of one-on-one time (or she supposes two-on-one, whatever) with Aubrey is enough to get her contemplating a quick exit back to the dorm. She can wait out the half hour before practice with Kimmy Jin.

Or --

Well shit.

"Like… now?" Beca is tensed at the edge of her chair, hands clamped down on the seat beneath her, looking way more invested in Chloe's answer than she really wants to let on. Maybe if she bounces her leg, she'll just look restless instead of freaked out. She tries that.

It's probably not working, but Chloe smiles indulgently anyway. "Soon."

"… okay." Beca leans back a little in the seat, relaxing slightly, but is still reluctant to completely let go of the chair itself. Just like she hesitates to break the eye contact with Chloe. That'd be like admitting that anything about Chloe Beale makes her nervous -- and she's pretty sure that weird wild creatures are only further provoked by acts of submission like looking away or … letting them bully you into singing by creeping on them in the shower. Things like that. Oh - shit.

Beca blinks and frowns at her shoes, pretending she doesn't see the bemused headshaking thing Chloe is doing as she draws closer. "Maybe if you guys just got to know each other…"

The frown only deepens, but Beca doesn't look up. "I think I got the basic gist of it."

"Oh, right. You're so great at reading people, huh?" 

She can hear Chloe's voice drawing closer, closer, nearby, _right here_ , and it's only once her downcast gaze is kind of hovering near Chloe's crotch that looking up again starts to look _really_ ideal. "Uh -- yeah. Well, kind of." 

"Mm." Chloe purses her lips, mostly looking unimpressed, but she doesn't argue. 

That's one of those skills Chloe really seems to have mastered with all those years spent around Aubrey: not saying what's on her mind.

If Beca were the type to care about getting other people to _share_ and _open up_ \-- so basically, if she were Jesse -- she might point that out, or at least ask what's on Chloe's mind behind the "mmm." 

But she doesn't.

She just moves her legs out of the way to make room in the seat beside her.

\--

It becomes a sort of tradition.

Beca shows up just early enough to snag some alone time with Chloe. It's not planned, and they never really talk about it, but it just keeps happening -- with increasing frequency.

They talk about everything, from the way rehearsals have been going to classes. Chloe gives a lot of advice about the college experience, but (unlike Beca's dad) her stories tend to involve more alcohol and boys. Once -- Beca's brain can't help but make special note of it, stupid as that is -- the story's about a girl. 

One who was too uptight and controlling and didn't know how to share someone. "Clingy" and "needy" are the words Chloe uses, and Beca can't really relate to it at all. She's never had someone get that close that she's had to wonder how to pry them away.

Except for how some of the situations Chloe describes make her think of Jesse in a way that Beca kind of feels guilty about after. 

\--

Once Aubrey arrives, the top secret totally random Beca-and-Chloe meetings cut themselves short. Beca always peels off, even if it's in mid-sentence, saying something about needing to hydrate.

She never returns to the rehearsal space until at least two new sets of voices are reverberating in there too.

It's not really a problem, though. No matter the conversation, they always pick it up again easily enough the next day. This is probably because Chloe is a good listener. Like she actually uses the active listening skills they teach you in school that Beca used to think were bullshit. Restate what the person just told you, nod encouragingly, and apparently also touch a lot if Chloe's version is anything to go by. She really touches _a lot_ , with her hand always finding its way to Beca's shoulder or elbow for a helpful squeeze of added emphasis.

It's not exactly normal, not for Beca, but it's still kind of nice -- even if it does interrupt her carefully evolved sleep schedule.

*

Once Beca is off the Bellas, her options around campus are limited. She doesn't want to risk running into any of her former -- well, not friends exactly, so what were they? Dorky acquaintances? Fellow lady singers?

Maybe "friends" is just easier.

She's especially concerned about possibly seeing Chloe, who looked so much like a kicked puppy at the semifinals.

No -- she looked like _Beca_ had kicked _her_ puppy. Out into the street. Right into oncoming traffic. And then backed over it twice.

Better for both of them to just ... not.

Beca's not good with awkward conversations or people crying. They usually expect you to _hug_ after, and she's still too pissed at all of them for that.

She's pretty sure that she's pissed off, at least. Why else would she have quit?

\--

No, Beca was definitely in the right to quit -- and whatever Aubrey might think, Beca did _quit_ \-- because she was pissed off.

At Aubrey, sure, but Chloe too. Your friends are supposed to have your back, right? 

Not that she and Chloe are _close_. They're definitely not writing each other's names in their notebooks with hearts BFFs or whatever like Chloe is with Aubrey, but Beca had really thought--

It doesn't matter.

She doesn't go to the quad or the coffee shop anymore. She doesn't hang around the library too long.

Basically, the whole routine changes.

\--

At least the radio station is still a viable option. 

Mostly.

Until she runs into Jesse -- who switched shifts with the only other freshman, apparently to avoid her, it's like she has the fucking plague or something -- and then that's out of the running too.

Okay fine, whatever, she doesn't need this shit. 

\--

You'd think with all the naps Beca is no longer getting the rest of the time, that sleep at night would be easy.

You might think, but you'd be wrong.

*

When Beca laid awake coughing as a kid, her dad would sometimes sing to her. The songs were usually something dumbed down and immature, but familiar in that way that only things from childhood are. Those memories that go back so far it's like they're stuck to the soft back of your dumb baby skull and you'll never be able to pry them out completely.

So he'd hum to her, singing softly, and then it wasn't so bad. Soon she'd fall asleep again, but in the meantime he was there, pushing hair back off her forehead and kissing the skeptical point of one raised eyebrow. (Such a critic, even then.) He'd draw the covers up and whisper into the room as he turned out the light.

_"Sweet dreams, Bub."_

Whatever. It was stupid. He's stupid.

*

Beca's stupid dad is the one who fixes everything, and she'd probably be pissed about it if she wasn't so grateful. He's right about the things he says -- maybe even _most of_ the things he's said lately, about taking risks and meeting people, but definitely _not_ about LA -- and pretty soon things fall into place like magic. Or like the rhythms of a familiar song.

Something stuck at the back of Beca's brain that keeps trying to get out again.

*

So they win -- of course they do, _did you see them_ \-- and it's almost weird how much Beca cares. How happy it makes her feel after.

They celebrate while they're still in New York City, which is also kind of crazy.

It's not LA, but it still feels surreal. There's a guy there -- something like Chuck or Rick or-- maybe Dickie? -- and he says there's a bar downtown near NYU that doesn't card, he's buying. And all the while his eyes are on Stacie's tits, so Beca at least feels secure in the knowledge he has no plans to ruffie _her_.

But they find somewhere else closer to midtown with a rowdier crowd that's more Beca's scene. It's loud enough that it's hard to talk and there are too many people for her to stand out. That other place sounded almost intimate and quiet, like you might have to sit around and talk. She's worried Aubrey might start to cry or something; she's been so keyed up since the win. Beca's pretty sure she personally couldn't deal right now.

Plus the music here is okay (passable), and the drinks are mixed strong. That's a bonus too. Here it's easy to pull away when she feels Jesse's mouth at the back of her neck and suggest it's just the push and pull of other people. The place is crowded.

Jesse buys it, even if Beca's pretty sure it isn't entirely the truth.

She doesn't question the real reason, doesn't unpack or whatever, because vodka is actually a really fucking effective distraction.

\--

Beca kind of wants this feeling to last forever -- and to maybe feel less like a dream, that'd be cool -- but somehow time keeps speeding up. 

The memories and moments are there, but they're like polaroids. Something like that. (Jesse would probably think of a movie montage metaphor that's more fitting, but she's got nothing.) The night starts with everyone fresh and almost fucking glowing with the happiness -- like she's pretty sure Aubrey's almost radioactive -- but somewhere along the way everything began to blur along its edges, even the people. 

It only slows down a little when Chloe pulls her away just to talk. She leans close and puts on that intense face she usually reserves for when she's trying to talk Beca into something -- like naked singing or possibly body shots later, who knows -- but instead she's just being _really nice_. Saying things like, "We couldn't have done it without you," which is maybe more honesty than Beca is prepared for with this much alcohol in her system.

"Oh… cool." Beca hasn't got a fucking clue what you say to that, and really she'd be cool with time picking up the pace again, but it looks like it won't be doing her any favors. Chloe's smile is _slow_ , spreading across every inch of her face, and Beca can _feel_ her breathing out close to her cheek. Like time has fucking _stopped_.

It's weird how this is becoming a habit. Like the sharpest moments of the day are all around Chloe.

Probably it's a coincidence.

\--

Beca feels Chloe's hands tugging at her hips even before she can turn to grab her. She barely has time to finish her shot before being dragged further from the bar to the makeshift dance floor, where people are already grinding to Titanium.

_Nothing to lose_ , and Chloe is _really_ close, burning up hot to the touch. Beca's not sure how much of that is the alcohol, the dancing, or maybe some sort of winner's high. Her hair sticks to her cheek with sweat, curling out from Chloe's face in little tendrils like flames, and for some reason Beca finds herself brushing it aside. 

Like she's really just so _helpful_ , you know, because nobody likes hair sticking to your lips while you're singing. And Chloe's practically serenading her now. They're swaying so close that Beca's eyes are almost crossed and Chloe's low bass reverberates in Beca's own chest.

She reaches to brush the hair back again, just as Chloe sways, and for a moment Beca's thumb catches at the corner of Chloe's mouth.

Her eyes go out of focus. Dilate. That's probably due to proximity too. 

"… where's Jesse?" First Beca's brain asks, and then her mouth.

"Shh." Chloe's arms drape themselves across Beca's shoulders, and now every movement brings their hips closer together. How'd that happen? "He's here somewhere." Her mouth is right up against Beca's ear so she can be heard over the music. Probably not for any other reason.

_Fire away._

\--

They make it back to the hotel by cab.

"Shotgun!" Fat Amy shouts as a group piles into the first one, and Lilly's eyes light up for a brief moment until realization dawns. She looks simply devastated.

Beca decides to take the next one.

\--

She ends up crammed in between Chloe and Jesse, with the former partially in her lap once Stacie slips in with them.

This would only qualify as dramatic irony if Beca weren't already aware of how awkward it is.

\--

Somehow she and Chloe are sharing a bedroom, which isn't how the night began -- way back when they first dropped their stuff off at the hotel before performing.

Before Lincoln Center, the performance rush, and the alcohol. Before Chloe draped herself boneless against Beca's back and giggled into the side of her throat in a way that makes Beca's nerves feel like they're on fire. Maybe the heat is contagious or something.

"… where's Aubrey?" Beca asks, wondering about history and its tendency to repeat itself. 

Or maybe this is just about _Chloe's_ tendency to invade personal space. She's already wrapped herself around Beca's pillow, even without kicking her shoes off.

"Dude," Beca both grunts and sighs in one. She sits down on the side of the bed and gently removes one of its occupant's shoes, then the other, with barely any response from Chloe herself. "… are you passed out already?"

\--

The weirdest thing about Chloe taking Beca's pillow -- seriously, she'd staked her claim on that side of the bed already with a mid-afternoon nap -- is how she's practically spooning it.

Forcing your way into someone's bed and stealing their perfectly fluffed pillow is one thing. _Molesting_ the pillow in the process is something else.

When Chloe's hips swivel in a slow rocking rhythm like she's still out on the dance floor, Beca's pretty sure she's crossed a line. 

It shouldn't be surprising coming from the woman who perved on her in the shower, but still. It's Beca's _pillow_. Is nothing sacred anymore?

Nothing at all?

* * *

(Chloe with a hangover is even more clingy than she is without. At least, that's based on one definition of "clingy."

LIke where she is _literally_ clinging to the front of Beca's shirt and squinting at the sunlight streaming through the shades. As if she somehow expects Beca of all people to be big enough to block the light.

"… you want something to drink?"

Chloe cringes and licks her lips slowly. Beca can actually smell her breath from across the relative(ly minor, okay point taken) distance, but she doesn't comment. Nobody's their best self first thing in the morning. Add enough alcohol to the mix and you basically have to double that.

If she wasn't so busy shifting and making room for Chloe to get more comfortable lying against her in the bed, Beca might wonder when it was exactly she started to care about anything like that before scoring a few extra points for sarcasm. Like _feelings_ suddenly trump being an amusing ass.

Used to be nothing rated higher than getting to wield her devastating -- like really, let's not bother with false modesty -- wit. But now it seems like _Chloe's_ feelings at least break even.

Seriously, if Beca weren't so busy ignoring the citrus smell of Chloe's hair, she'd probably be pretty mortified.)

* * *

Chloe's hair still smells like something fruity, but it's different now.

 _"Maybe this is what victory smells like,"_ a small voice inside of Beca thinks before she immediately squashes it with an inward groan. God, that sounded -- not just lame.

That sounded almost like _Aubrey_. Like a barely coherent inspirational poster. Fuck.

She's probably just tired.

Because it doesn't even make _sense_. The cliche is supposed to be about the _taste_ of victory right, so how does that suddenly also have a smell?

Except for how it kind of does. It smells like sweat, vodka, and skin mixed with just a hint of fruit.

\--

Basically every single part of Beca is dying to be curled up under the covers right now. There are naps and then there is _sleep_ and now that the performance rush is wearing off she feels like crashing for a couple days. Maybe a year.

But odds are Chloe is going to wake up with a massive hangover and Beca's still just sober enough to piece that much together. She feels sort of fuzzy around the edges, like she just woke up, but it's actually the opposite. There's a chance that Beca's body is going to be super pissed at her for this -- kind of feels like it already is -- but she takes a couple breaths and tries to focus.

There's water. She has water.

Now she just needs a conscious Chloe to drink it.

"Hey…" She sort of prods at Chloe's shoulder, which probably isn't the ideal gentle approach. But in Beca's (admittedly limited) experience, Chloe has a much stronger stomach than Aubrey. She can take a few jabs to the shoulder. "Beale." Poke, poke.

But it's not working, and she doesn't have a plan B.

\--

Plan B ends up being a cold wash cloth from the bathroom soaked with ice water applied directly to Chloe's forehead.

"Aubrey…" she groans and rolls over, pressing her face against the pillow. ( _Beca's_ pillow.) "Stop."

It's sort of satisfying to know that even Chloe immediately associates Aubrey with any random annoyance. Or it could be because they're practically roommates.

But Beca hopes it's that annoying thing. That'd be sweet. "No, hey-- Chloe." She sweeps hair up from the back of Chloe's neck and replaces it with the cloth. "Just give me five minutes." She tugs and Chloe groans. "… five minutes _and_ my pillow."

"Nooo." From that grin slowly spreading across her face, Beca's actually starting to suspect that Chloe might already be awake. Faker.

"Okay," Beca huffs, tugging again. "You can _keep_ the pillow, just sit up, okay?"

Just like that, Chloe's eyes are blinking open. ( _Total_ and _complete_ faker.) Then she smiles, and Beca forgets she was about to act annoyed. "What's up?"

"… water."

\--

So now Chloe's hydrated and looking less like she has wadded up cotton stuck in her mouth, so probably she's going to be okay and morning won't suck.

This is _fantastic_ news since it means Beca can finally get some sleep.

Or would if Chloe weren't taking up a huge amount of _both_ their pillows now. She's got her shoulder spread across her own pillow (originally _Beca's_ pillow, just so we're clear) and her head is resting partially against the other one and actually a little bit on top of Beca herself. Chloe doesn't just hog the sheets, she apparently isn't content until she gets the _entire bed_ and maybe fifty percent of its other occupant too.

It's kind of distracting. "Um," Beca starts, not really sure how to broach the subject of normal parameters on personal space. Usually she just stays far enough away that it's not really an issue, so actually talking about it is kind of new. 

Plus Chloe's never seemed to fully grasp it as a concept to begin with.

"Mm?" she can hear Chloe sort of grunt questioningly, but also she can _feel_ the exhalation of air… really shockingly close to Beca's _chest_. Which.

Maybe this should be a really, really one-sided conversation, as much as that's possible. If Beca's lucky, Chloe's drowsiness will kick right back in again.

"Could you like… scooch over?"

When Chloe snorts, Beca feels it vibrating against her shoulder. She can feel Chloe's _eyelashes_ fluttering against her skin and then soft air when she mumbles, "Nobody says _scooch_ except old ladies, Beca."

"And Aubrey. I bet Aubrey--"

"I'm sure she'd be flattered by the comparison."

"Yeah. Well." Beca's not sure if that was meant to be snide or not, but it makes her feel defensive in a way where she'd really like to cross her arms and hunker down. Except Chloe's head is already basically _all up on Beca's chest_ , so there's not a lot of chance of that. "It was a joke. I was being funny."

"Mmhm." Chloe's breath isn't even really against Beca's chest so much as like _right above_ the line of her shirt, tickling over her collarbone. Seriously, it's like she's _aiming_ with her eyes closed. "I'll laugh in the morning," she says, breathing out slowly on the end with a low chuckle. "Go to sleep, Beca."

"… yeah," Beca says, breathing kind of long and heavy herself, but probably with worse aim. "Working on it."

Beca's not really optimistic about her chances.


End file.
